I'm still the greatest muthafucka that’s too lazy to prove it
Maybe I'm too late but that's too lame a conclusion
Watched a lot of friends throw bouquets to the movement
Of who paid them the moolah while few strained for improvement
I rode a thin line, spit touché to the nuisance
Admittedly took 52k for a noose and an illusion
Stupid, but back to punch 'em square up in they shit
And tell 'em all due respect eat a pair of dicks
There it is, that godAWFUL truth they all prayed for
The stage floor something like a claymore when they on
I mean, I could sit here and spit that whole played sort of
"Rappers ought to say more, fuck ‘em and their lame tours."
But, is that really what y'all came for?
Fake wars? Same song and dance since '84?
Gatekeeper, hear me, I will not be your savior
More a 100 proof whiskey with a gun powder chaser
I was never the type to get caught up in all of your rhetoric
Get it correct or to beg for your membership
Edit my pen just to lend it to relevance
Said it then sit with sentiment, better yet
Question the messages
Lesson of getting too ahead of the evidence
Anyways - back to the peace of the scene
And the easel to bleed and I kept it Connecticut
Not for that reason of seeming novel or deep
More allegiance to the people that's gettin' robbed in they sleep
It’s still fuck your hair cut, politics, and police
Built different and ya' mans get it poppin' in the streets like…


And they probably should have seen it comin'
Flashing lights, loud pops and the people runnin'
From team discussions on how we gonna make equal from it
Navigating through the snakes just to up and reach a summit
Cousin...shit don’t even exist
Trying to own something when hundreds are co-leasing the bitch
I'm so seasoned, no secret, I'm nose deep in the drip
When I spend them tour earnings on gold teeth and a fifth
Then it's no peace in the pit - no chance at redemption
No sleep for the rich and thrown hands at the mention
I’m so handsome it’s wreckless, the hoes stand at attention
Then throw tantrums once they see no chance to impress him
UGH - I don’t know who the fuck he really think he is
Like this is if Bukowski was a New Haven city kid
Hamden raised, mix a bit, Stone Cold belligerence
Let it sit, then sprinkle some ol’ Slick Rick charisma in (Ladi Dadi)
So unamused, what you've convaluted as great
Couldn’t recognize the truth if it fucked you in the face
Just think of all the blues that attitude could create
If he quit rapping for nudes and adding to the bass
But fuck it I know what I am at the core
I’m not proud but the damage has landed me more
Handled the storm with amateur form
At least I was standing when panic restored
Hand to the lord that I could of been better
A man of my word but I fumbled the letters
And running was never that much of get up
For someone who better cooked under the pressure
And not for that reason of seeming novel or deep
More allegiance to the people that's getting robbed in they sleep
It’s still fuck your band name, fad diets and tweets
Built different and ya mans get it poppin' in the streets like...

Lord Jesus get the water
The bushes burning and their reach is getting farther
Greatest story written - I’m just trying meet the author
In the hopes that I can leave his daughter weeping at the alter
Yeah, I hate this fairytale appeal you all steal from
Tell mother goose to bust it open for a real one
Chest hair poppin' put fresh air to a steel lung
Get clear love before these fuckin' neck beards can ear plug
It's a ill drunk with a hipster vibe, I detest it
Different kind of investment to live or die by your message
I mean, how many can say that they really talk dat shit
If they never had to claim it while wiping blood off they grin
And it might have cost him a win, but let it rock with a steady knock
Betty Crock' a cocktail of every shot I never got
Enter the plot of better stop or let it pop
Confine it to your sinus like a habanero netty pot
All these pathetic impressions, they lookin’ precious ock
While the god looking metal maid like the Jetson’s got
S’all Rosie until age left him at apex
Strange flex when I ain’t even hit my best of days yet
See the twenties was strong tequila and great sex
Now them thirties are dirty bars and train wrecks
Ain’t no correlation tween elation and a pay check
I’m making every statement like I may just exit stage left
I played def, to the warnings signs and borderlines
And turned up the heat 'til this sort of grind could cauterize
Fortified - bomb shelter the bars and ignored the time
The irony of finding myself the moment I lost my mind
Off of the line, foot on the gas
Should have reminded what stunted the past
Couldn't have asked for a less of fuck
When they asked him what type was impressive to us
Pretty damn clear that it's (not that)
So I ain't really looking for a spot back
It's different the moment they left the door open
So kicking it in was just a got damn hot plan
Not for the reason of seeming novel or deep
More allegiance to the people that's getting robbed in they sleep,
It’s still fuck fuck those standards I bled trying to meet
Built different and the god get it poppin' in the streets like...